MARLOW (Book I) : The Wandmaster's Sepulchre
by Ravnak
Summary: Jon Marlow never knew his mother. It's his eleventh birthday when he finds out that his millionaire eccentric of a father is actually the boring parent. He is quickly sucked into the wondrous world of his mother: attending wizarding school, battling monsters, dealing with his new found independence and going on amazing quests for magical riches with his two new friends. OC Next-Gen


**Marlow**

Chapter 1- Conjurations, Revelations and Fledgling Fortunes

 ** _Disclaimer: If I owned the Harry Potter universe I wouldn't still live with my parents, that being said some of the characters are mine._**

Jon never knew his mum. His father told him that she had died in childbirth; it had never stood well with him that he hadn't known her. It made him feel like he was missing out somehow, and that however good his life was it would never be complete. It made him sound ungrateful he knew that, his father had given him a life other kids would kill for, but still he couldn't help it. It wasn't a big thing really, he had never known anything different, he certainly knew how to enjoy himself and he did don't get that wrong. It was just a little thing that was always there on the edge of things-kind of like an itch that he just couldn't get to. It was on his mind today in particular, it always was on his birthday. He lay on his bed watching his breath stir around the particles in the air-you know the weird ones you can only see when the light shines directly on them, he had heard somewhere that they were actually dead skin cells, he hoped that wasn't true because it sounded gross. He glanced across at the clock on his bedside table: 7.45, his father would be up by now cooking breakfast. His dad loved to cook, always said it was the one thing that kept him sane through all the stress at work. He remembered the day when he called him into the kitchen under urgency of life or death, only to reveal with a glint in his eye that today was the day he would learn to cook.

'Every young gentleman should know how to cook at least one good meal' he would tell him as he wound his pristine white apron round his waist, tucking his blue cloth into the waistband. "But you are not every young gentleman, you are my son and so shall learn how to cook _all_ good meals" laughter glistening in his eyes when Jon tried to point out that it may take more than one day to learn that. He had shown him how to chop vegetables properly, the correct way to prepare a joint of meat, which herbs and spices to use with what and reminded him of the importance of always seasoning properly. His dad could have been a professional chef if he had of wanted to, not that he did, he had far too expensive tastes. He always joked about how in a past life he must have been a highflying bachelor born into a noble house, slicking back his grey hair and striking a stupid pose that he imagined made him look like royalty. It was the only possible explanation for him developing such a taste for tradition and excess while growing up with Jon's grandfather (the most contentedly working class man ever to live according to him). Of course the only thing that was different between this life and his imaginary past life was the family.

8.00, Jon had been lying there for fifteen minutes when his suspicions were confirmed, the smell of frying bacon was beginning to waft under his bedroom door. If anything was worth getting up for it was that. He scrambled out from underneath the sheets and rushed over to his wardrobe. He flicked the switch on the wall as he walked in. His father had taken him shopping a few weeks ago when school broke up, saying that now he was becoming a young man he should get a proper young man's wardrobe of clothes, most of his old stuff was thrown out and replaced with the "thirty essential pieces of a gentleman's wardrobe" as he liked to call his _definitive_ list. The point was that he could dress appropriately for any situation with this selection of clothes and he would just add to and build up the wardrobe as he grew and worked out his own style. Jon didn't understand what he would possibly do with three different suits, he would never have the chance to wear them enough for having only one style to actually become an issue but father had insisted, saying the point was to build up good habits. Good fashion habits, of all things to get so focused on. Still he enjoyed clothes so it wasn't exactly a bad quirk for a father to have.

"Fit and versatility above all else Jon, and in that order" his words rang through his ears "Never go straight off the rack, otherwise it will never fit properly and that will show. Quality shows and will last. In the long run it is always worth it, especially if it can serve multiple occasions. Always remember that." Jon grabbed a plain white shirt and a pair of tan chinos, he slipped them on quickly and made his way out to sitting room, making a short detour to the loo on the way. He plonked himself down on one of the antique french sofas (another of his father's many bizarre obsessions) and gazed out across the london skyline- the two of them lived in a spacious modern apartment that overlooked the Thames. His father was an entrepreneur you see, he teamed up with young computer-whizz types and helped them turn their ideas into businesses, at least that is how he understood his father's description anyway. As if on cue he dropped down onto the sofa next to Jon and handed him a plate piled high with the perfect full english.

"I always knew bacon would be the key to your heart" he gave him a wink before tucking in, continuing to talk between bites So how is my favorite eleven year old? How does it feel to have aged a whole year overnight?"

"Excellent, i feel completely different. Much wiser" he retorted with a smirk.

"Good, you're going to need it. Wisdom, I mean. We have a big day ahead, today all will be revealed" he noticed the young boys quizzical look "Ah, ah, ah not yet dear boy. All will be made clear in good time."

Jon groaned, his dad was going drag whatever this was out as long as possible just to annoy him. He had done a similar thing earlier this year when he had told him about the award he had won for charity work, an "Oobe" or something equally stupid sounding, he kept dropping hints and stupid jokes about it all day until Jon had finally caved and begged him to tell him what it was. Of course the prize was rarely worth the torturous set up, so Jon doubted it would be this time. They finished breakfast and his father cleared away the dishes, rolling up his shirt sleeves so they wouldn't get wet.

"Remember Jon, always clean up the dishes right after you finished. It's important to keep the kitchen clean and ready. A clear house-"

"Equals a clear mind, I know dad. You may have mentioned it once or twice before."

"And yet you still insist on leaving clothes all other the floor, just to torture your poor father. You're a menace you know that right?" Jon noticed he hadn't removed any of his rings to do the dishes, he had always wondered how that didn't damage them. His tattoos were poking down from below his sleeves now he had rolled them up. He had asked once when if could get one himself, but was told he had to be far older and wiser before doing anything permanent like that. He wondered how old that meant, maybe thirteen or fourteen. That seemed to be about right, by that point he would basically be an adult.

"Righteoh little man, let the proceedings commence." the kitchen returned to its previous sparkling white state he adjusted his collar and meandered back across the open plan living room. His kitchen was in a perfect state, the pale stone surfaces gleamed under the lights, he had utensils and knives neatly arranged in racks beneath a little row of fresh herbs growing in pots along the windowsill. Jon's bedroom was on the left hand side of the room and his was on the other, they made a sort of dent into the apartment, creating the nice cubby hole which the kitchen was nested in. The rest of the space formed a large open sitting room; a long window ran down the length of the room from floor to ceiling, it looked out over the river and had a beautiful view over the city. There was a seating area with a big TV on the right hand side of the room, which was separated by a low half height wall from the long glass dining table on the other side which they used mainly to entertain guests. The whole apartment was alight in a palette of creams, browns and purples. Now it certainly wasn't the biggest apartment in the world, but the location was sublime and it's not like they needed masses of space for just the two of them, besides he had other things to spend on and property in london cost an arm and a leg these days.

Inside Jon was bouncing, he loved celebrations and couldn't wait to find out what his dad had planned, not that he would let him see that of course-he was obviously far too cool for that, come on guys. It's not like his facade actually fooled anyone anyway, but it was cute to see him try. With a flourish and a smile his father produced a small leather box from inside his pocket, it looked kind of like the boxes people use when they propose. Jon almost burst out laughing at the thought that his dad might be proposing to him but held himself together, he didn't want him to think he was laughing at the gift after all. He cracked open the tiny black box to reveal a small golden ring with a flat top nestled on an adorable little satin cushion.

"It's a signet ring. It has the family crest on it, just like mine" He pointed out the ring on his little finger and showed him how it compared to his. "I thought since you will be moving on to secondary school soon, and you're becoming quite the young gentleman it was time you officially became a man of the family" Jon swelled with pride, he gently picked up the golden ring and slipped it on to his little finger. He admired the intricate detail of the engraving on it, tiny thorned roses ran around the outside of the ring and in the centre was a regal dragon staring back at him.

He remembered his father telling him about how his grandfather he had gone all the way back through their family history and how he had managed to trace the line back to the mid 17th century in wales, he found that a long time ago they had a family crest and everything. They were clearly much more important back then, they must have fallen from grace rather; his great-grandfather having worked as a bricklayer before his death. However, when his dad started getting a lot of success he had a signet ring made with the old family crest, ever the sucker for archaic tradition and that. Made him feel like he was resurrecting the old noble family from his past life.

The weird history behind it didn't make Jon any less proud and excited at the gift, in fact in a way it made him even more excited. For the first time he truly felt his father's infatuation with tradition and family beginning to infect him, it was as though he was part of the beginning of something big and exciting. Something his father started and he could continue. Little did he realise that the ring was far from the biggest surprise that awaited him this birthday, that it wouldn't even be close. Once he had calmed down and issued an emphatic thank you hug, his father drew his second birthday gift his pocket. It was a thick yellowy looking letter, made of what looked like-was that parchment? It had his name scratched in flowery letters on the front along with his address and on the back was a large wax seal. Jon was beginning to think that perhaps his father may have gotten a little carried away with the whole tradition thing but before he could ask what it was his father began to speak, and didn't stop for quite some time.

"It's time for you to learn a little about your Mother."

Jon wanted to laugh. He wanted to role on the floor in peels and fits of laughter. But something in his father's eyes stopped him. His eyes weren't the usual twinkling blue eyes that greeted him when he was joking. They seemed sort of hard and serious, they looked excited too he could see that, but there really was no laughter in them. Either he had gotten a lot better at disguising his stupid jokes or he actually believed what he was saying. How could he, Jon, be a wizard, how could his mum have been a witch. It was ridiculous, a pure fantasy, his dad had well and truly lost it. He had suspected it for years but now it was out in the open for everybody to see, his father had finally gone mental. I mean magic, how ridiculous was that. What was he going to do next? Dye his beard white, start carrying around a long stick and call himself Gandalf.

"I know it seems unlikely Jon"

"Unlikely? Unlikely! Its lunacy dad that what it is!" Admittedly it would be super cool if he was though, but no- let's live in the real world here.

"I don't expect you to believe me right away Jon, I know it must seem weird that I didn't tell you about this before. It's just that there is a law of secrecy to protect the wizarding world, I was magically bound not to tell you about it until you were old enough to find out for yourself; you were growing up in the non-magical world so counted for all intents and purposes as a non-magical child in the eyes of the law."

"You were magically bound not to tell me?" he retorted incredulously.

"Yes, exactly!"

"Do you want me to put you in a home Dad? Because I can do that, if you're so insistent about being completely crazy, I can find you help." His father rolled his eyes, why did the boy have to inherit his mother's stubbornness and his sharp tongue. It was a lethal combination, really.

"Look I don't expect you to believe me with no proof. I raised you better than that, you think critically and unbiased, and of that i am thankful. To be honest I would have been disappointed if you had of just blindly accepted it. That is exactly why I have a trip planned for us today." Jon groaned internally, this was going to be some stupid wild goose chase his father had dreamed up no doubt. May as well go along with it he supposed, besides it might actually be quite fun. WIth a sigh he agreed to go and his father sprung up with the twinkle of excitement relit in his eye, it was weird though, Jon thought he spotted something else too, almost a sort of sadness. That didn't make sense though, why would he plan some joke involving his mother if it upset him to do so. His father was stupid and crazy sometimes but not self-destructively so.

Within 15 minutes both father and son were happily dressed and descending in the lift to the ground floor. Jon had slipped a deep navy pea coat and grey hoodie over his shirt and selected his new brown Italian loafers. His father being ever the flamboyant dresser was leaning nonchalantly against the lift railing. He had on his best double breasted pinstripe suit and beige fedora. His plane black briefcase was sitting at his feet. He had also decided to bring an old vintage cain along with him and was absent minded twirling it in his right hand. After all, since the death of his dear Mary, he hadn't been to the wizarding world in over ten years and wanted to make a good impression when he returned with his son.

They quickly reached the bottom of the building and drawing the keys from his pocket they made their way to the smart Bentley nestled in the corner of their garage, he stashed his case on the back seat and they were on their way. Today was a big day, so it was only appropriate to go traditional and classy. They moved slowly along the winding streets of London, it seemed to be the case that whenever you had somewhere exciting to be the traffic decided that today was the day to be a complete and utter pain. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the still unopened letter when they were stopped at some traffic lights.

"I was going to get you to open this in the leaky cauldron, but since this is taking so long you may as well do it now."

"The leaky cauldron?"

"It's the entrance into the wizarding world, a little pub on Charing Cross Road." He then leant forward conspiratorially and with a small wink said "You can't see it unless you already know it's there'"

"Sounds convenient" he replied sarcastically as he checked the letter over "So what's in this letter then? The first clue of my birthday scavenger hunt?"

"No" his father replied "don't be so ridiculous. It's obviously a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Obviously." With the strange feeling of excitement and apprehension that he just couldn't seem to shake, he broke open the red seal with the strange looking crest on it: four corners bearing a lion, a badger, an eagle and a snake respectively. There were two sheets inside, he tucked the envelope into his pocket, unfolded the parchment and began to read.

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

 _Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall_

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class)_

 _Dear Mr Jonathan Marlow_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Horace Slughorn_

 _Deputy Headmaster_

"You really have gone the extra mile dad. I'm impressed" He was given only a smug look in reply. "So when it says we await your owl what exactly do you mean?"

"What _they_ mean is a return letter, I would presume. Your mother always kept an owl to take her post." He was kind of impressed, his dad really had thought this through and it was quite creative actually. He was beginning to feel a little disappointed that it would all turn out to be a joke in the end. Imagine if he actually was a wizard! He tucked the first page back into the envelope and began to read the second page. What he didn't see was his father's sad glance over him as he read, it was exciting: the wizarding world was an amazing place for sure, but today marked the day he would lose him to his mother's world. He was afraid, although he would never admit it, he was afraid to lose Jon like he'd lost her.

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

 _UNIFORM_

 _First year students will require:_

 _Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

 _One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

 _One pair of protective gloves (dragonhide or similar)_

 _One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_

 _Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags._

 _COURSE BOOKS_

 _All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

 _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk_

 _A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

 _Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

 _A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

 _Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble_

 _OTHER EQUIPMENT_

 _1 wand_

 _1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

 _1 set of glass or crystal phials_

 _1 telescope_

 _1 set brass scales_

 _Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad._

 _PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS_

 _ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK_

They had arrived at Charing Cross Road now, they pulled the Bentley into the private garage his dad had booked- "never leave a nice car in any random parking space Jon, there are no end of jealous people out to destroy other's nice things". Tucking the hilariously creative letter into his pocket Jon and his dad got out and after collecting his briefcase began to walk down the rapidly filling up street.

"So we are going to the magical pub that nobody can see?"

"Correct"

"And that is going to prove that I am a wizard?"

"Correct, and then we're going shopping"

"Shopping?"

"You don't think I would send you off into the wizarding world without the proper provisions do you?"

"I don't think you're sending me off into a wizarding world at all Dad"

"Why's that?"

Jon shot him an incredulous look "Because it doesn't exist"

"Keep saying that if you want, it's gonna be you who ends up looking stupid. Aha, here we are! Oh it's been a while. You know the last time I was here was almost twelve years ago, we were here meeting your mother's parents to tell them that she was pregnant. It was a wonderful day, but that was the last time we ever-" He faltered, gazing longingly into the distance. He suddenly came to his senses and the look melted away and was replaced by the smile he shot at Jon, he gave his hair a proud tussle. "Anyway, shall we head on in."

It was weird, Jon couldn't help but notice the way that nobody so much as glanced at the pub or them as they stood awkwardly staring at the door. It was almost as if they couldn't see it at all. He knew obviously they could, a magical pub was simply ludicrous, it just _seemed_ as if they couldn't. They looked at each other excitement now clear in both of their eyes; however much Jon would hate to admit it, a part of him hoped it was true after all and an even smaller part almost believed it could be. Without further ado they walked through the door.

The inside was quaint and old fashioned and smelled like tobacco and spice. A woman with long auburn hair was fixing up drinks behind the bar. Several old women in strange long coats of dazzlingly bright colors huddled in the corner wittering in high voices and drinking from tiny glasses. An odd looking man with a grubby coat and face sat muttering to himself in the corner while smoking a peculiarly long pipe. It was a nice place all in all-it was weird, like really weird-but nice. His father caught the attention of the woman across from the bar.

'George? Is that you? It's great to see you again. I know it was a long time ago but I was very sad to hear about Jane." She was given a thin smile and a nod. "Anyway, what brings you back to this neck of the world?' The woman held out her hand and he took it firmly with a warmer smile.

"Thank you Hannah, my son Jon is eleven today, just got his Hogwarts letter. So I'm introducing him to Diagon Alley" Diagon Alley? What was he talking about? They were on Charing Cross Road not some diagonal alley.

"Ah, and you need me to let you through. Of course, of course." She moved out from behind the bar and through a small doorway on the other side of the room, Jon and his dad followed.

"She was a friend of your mother's" he explained as they entered a dingy weird smelling courtyard. She drew a small stick from inside her dress and turned to the blank brick wall. What was she planning on doing, digging her way through to her magical world with the twig?

'You're gonna love this kid' she said with a grin and tapped a brick to the left of her three times with her twig. Nothing happened for a moment or three. Suddenly, to his astonishment the brick started to wiggle, then the one next to it joined in, dancing and wobbling together in the wall. The movement spread outwards until the whole wall was shifting and grinding and splitting open into a large archway. The once-closed courtyard now opened up into the most mind-boggling sight of Jon's short life. Wizards and witches of every age in robes of every color filled the street. Magic hummed in the air mingling with the hoots of owl's and the bangs and cracks of fireworks whizzing round people's heads as they shopped. The alley was a cacophony of colour and joy and was filled with the most wondrous shops. Shops full of telescopes and cauldrons and owls and wands and flying broomsticks. Stacks of glowing balls and potions spilled out of shops next to windows displaying pickled bat spleens and enormous leather bound books. It was like an encyclopedia for everything that he thought was impossible.

Jon gaped at the street trying to take in all the sights that bombarded him. Only looking away to babble at his father in an attempt at forming coherent sentences. He gave Jon a cheeky elbow in the ribs and a smug grin before pulling him forward into the crowd.

Jon rushed after his father into the crowd, weaving through the fabulously fabric-clad bodies and leopard-print robes. There were a thousand questions Jon wanted to ask. I would list them here, but yeah a thousand questions is a lot and nobody wants to read that. Suffice to say, he was beginning to freak out. Surely none of this was actually happening. Maybe his father has drugged him into deliriousness, surely not even he wouldn't be that crazy though. Would he? Jon gave his face a quick slap. Wow that hurt. Okay yeah no even he's not that crazy. Thank God. Did this mean Jon was going crazy then? He hoped not; that would be most unfortunate. His father turned round to him and grasped his shoulder, it seemed as though it would almost have been a frightening gesture had it not been for the warm sheen in his eye. His father was getting less second glances at his avant garde fashion in the wizard street than he did in the normal street (summed him up really).

"Stay close Jon. Don't want to get lost in the crowd on your first day in the wizarding world." He gave his shoulder a squeeze and then holding him close began to struggle through the crowd again. "First things first, we are going to set you up a vault at Gringotts."

"Gringotts?" What an unpleasant name.

"The wizarding bank." Of course it was. They soon broke out of the throng of magic folk, finding themselves at the foot of a thin cream coloured building that looked as if it was barely kept standing by a set of thick ancient looking pillars. In fact the whole building looked a strange combination of ancient and new. In part seeming to be the oldest thing in the alley, possibly one of the oldest things Jon had ever seen-if you exclude his trips to egypt and greece with his father-and yet it was glistening with all manor of stylish new additions that were rather out of keeping with the rest of the building. A gothic spire here, a mediterranean tiled dome there, even an animated stained-glass window in the style of Van Gogh. It was as if sections of other buildings had been lifted of and just stuck onto the existing structure in a bizarre haphazard manner. His father stared at it with a puzzled look on his face. "It's had a face lift since I was last here. I don't like it."

"Is it not in keeping with the traditional wizarding architecture of the era?" He teased, knowing his trigger point when it comes to that sort of thing.

"It certainly is not" he huffed and strode through the humongous doors. Jon rushed after him up the wonky marble steps and through the carved entrance, what lay inside was a marvel. He really needed to get a grip of himself. A long glittering white and yellow hall about the length of a swimming pool, and three times as tall as the deepest end, stretched before him. The floor was an intricate swirling mosaic, a mottled cream with deep brown veins swimming across its surface weaving a beautiful web around the feet of the customers that were inside. Four doors led off in into a secondary room that Jon couldn't quite make out at the other end of the hall. A long strip of desks lined the hall on either side, behind each was a gnarled greyish gnome-looking thing. "Goblins" his father informed him with a whisper. They had bulging watery eyes and chins that flowed seamlessly into their bodies, even the youngest looking of the lot kind of resembled a two hundred year old man. They were engaged in a variety of activities, including but not limited to: writing, counting, sneering, weighing, sleeping, calculating and reluctantly dealing with customers. At the head of the room was a particularly tall desk, behind which sat a particularly wide goblin. It was up to this goblin that Jon's father walked and without so much as a whimper in his voice addressed. "My son would like to open an account".

"And does your son have a name?" came the reply in the goblin's blackboard-voice, sharp teeth flashing.

"Jonathan Marlow" Jon said hastily after a nudge from his father.

"Very good, would Master Jonathan Marlow and" with a pointed look at his father "Mister George Marlow please follow Isber" indicating a small- could you describe a goblin as cute? Why not. Indicating a small, cute goblin that had arrived unannounced by their feet, the wide goblin continued "he will escort you out back to his office." Clearly deciding there was no more that needed to be said the wide-one returned his gaze to the stack of parchment on his desk, without so much as a farewell. Jon glanced up at his father who gave him a little smile and a wave of his briefcase, he took that as his sign to follow Isber.

Jon followed Isber and his father followed suit.

The goblin lead them out of the main bank lobby and into the small circular room behind; several doors led down to various open areas that contained tracks and carts against the backdrop of a cold moist cave. Isber explained that these lead to a private cave network owned by Gringotts Bank, this was were they kept the vaults that wizards bought from the bank. This didn't quite add up with Jon's vague understanding of how banks worked from what he saw on the news and from his chats with his father. Instead of heading to the tracks they approached a door that looked sort of like an old-fashioned lift, like the sort in the finale of Casino Royale.

"What about credit and stuff? I thought banks didn't keep money in physical vaults outside of like Switzerland."

"Maybe in your Muggle world, boy, but money here is regulated and controlled by ancient Goblin magic. That's why we handle it all, we invented it boy! Besides, we have no desire to enter that corrupt, unstable business they run in the muggle world. At Gringotts we prize order, sustainability and good sense above the more petulant short term values of muggles, and even wizards for that matter." The goblin spoke like an old man, but he looked so cute and young: like a baby turtle that lost its shell.

"How old are you?" Jon enquired, ignoring the sharp glare his father shot his way for asking such a socially inappropriate question. Isber however, uncharacteristically for a goblin, didn't seem to mind; if anything he actually found the inquisitiveness of the child rather endearing. He told Jon he was a meer eighty seven years old, and more over that he was a very significant customer for him.

"Want to know why boy?" Jon nodded eagerly. "You Mister Marlow are my first ever vault since finally becoming a vault manager in my own right. Oh, you need not worry" he added, addressing Jon's father who seemed suddenly concerned over the matter. "I worked as an apprentice under the Master Grodrog, so I am certainly qualified. I wanted to ensure full disclosure to put your minds at ease. Besides this works for the better for you, since your vault shall have my full attention, being at this stage my only one." He shot a thin smile at Jon's father, a silent question as to whether or not this arrangement was acceptable, he received a slow and begrudging nod in response.

"Very good." He concluded as he pressed his palm against the door they were facing, there was an ice blue ripple that ebbed slowly out from his hand. The wave of what Jon could only presume to be magical energy spread and encapsulated the entire door, then pulsing brighter and brighter it suddenly flashed gold. The door had been replaced with a plain black door, bearing the name _Isber_ on a simple bronze plate, underneath it read the words _Manager to the Marlow Vault_. "Sorry about the delay, it's a new system the bank is currently trialing, all in all still faster than walking. And look my name plates already updated!" Isber smiled for the first time since their meeting, opening the door into an office the size of an overly large broom closet. "We're undergoing some significant infrastructure overhauls at the moment." Isber explained "and about bloody time too. The whole place has been a bit of a patchwork operation since the war. It seems you really have arrived at just the right time boy."

The office was nice, in a way, even cosy perhaps. A low desk sat about halfway down the room with just enough space on either side for Isber to fit past. Isber indicated the two dull leather chairs on the closer side of his desk, Jon and his father promptly sat down as Isber took his place perched on the other side. A set of thick shelves lined the wall behind him; they were empty except for four large leather bound bundles of parchment, too loose to be classed as books, marked in a queer angular lettering they could only presume was a goblin language.

"So, boy, what type of vault do you wish to open?" Jon wasn't sure, he didn't know anything about wizard banking, he looked across at his father uncertainly. He reached across and rested one of his large warm hands on Jon's shoulder giving it a slight squeeze.

"Could you outline to Jon what vaults you have available?" It was time for Jon to truly take control of his own finances and life, especially now he would be moving into a seperate world from his father. George wanted Jon to make the decisions when it came to his money from now on, he would of course give advice and help where needed, but Jon was ready for it; he had been teaching the boy how to be responsible and organised his whole life, knowing this day would come much younger than it does for ordinary non-magical children.

Isber gave a curt nod and clicking his fingers the widest of the four tomes hopped off the shelf and swam across to the desk, parting the dead particles that clouded the room. It landed with a thump in front of Isber who delicately unfastened the buckle and drew back the leather. "You see boy, here at Gringotts we are constantly restoring old vaults that have fallen into misuse and disrepair, along with added new vaults of various models into our system to account for the influx of muggle-born children who don't have a preexisting family vault, along with the occasional bespoke vault for the witch or wizard who has everything, as I believe the phrase goes."

"Wait, family vaults?" Jon interjected, if what his father said about his mother being the last of her long family line was true then surely- "Should there be a family vault from my mother then?" Isber paused clearly unsure.

"Your mother you say? I would imagine not I'm sorry boy, money tends to pass through the males in a family you see, did she have any brothers?"

"No, she was the last of her line, at least that's what father said." Jon turned to his father "right?"

"Actually, yes. Well, sort of no. Your mother never received any inheritance past a very small amount really, and what she did she past on to me as an investment of sorts" He looked rather uncomfortable in a way which Jon had seen only a couple of times before, he was adjusting his cufflinks rather too frequently and was repeatedly flicking back a hair which had fallen loose.

"So I have no money then? What's the point of me opening a vault if I have no wizard money?" Jon asked, the worm of confusion that had been eating at him ever since they arrived at the bank finally finding its way to the surface.

"You still exchange mugge money for wizarding money don't you?" George asked.

Isber nodded, "And vice versa".

"Good. In that case I have a one time investment and what shall be" he added with a pointed look at Jon "my last ever involvement with your financial affairs. Understood?" Jon gave a slightly confused nod. "This is to make up for losing out on your mother's inheritance and is to act as my bursary to you to cover all your costs and expenses while in the wizarding world" he leant forwards and pulled Jon in sharply giving him a quick kiss on the forehead, before swinging his briefcase up onto the table and clicking the locks revealing the contents inside.

Normally, Jon would have simply refused to believe what he saw, but given the day he was having so far he found it oddly easy to accept what he was seeing, yet still surprising nonetheless. He was used to money, having grown up flush with it, but his father got them to that point by being sensible with it, by investing, by not flashing it about in ridiculous gestures; yet here he was sat with his father sliding a briefcase stacked full of fifty pound notes across to him.

"This is all for me?" he said confused.

"That it is, that it is. That is exactly one million pounds Jon. A lot of money right?" Jon nodded his face paling slightly, he couldn't be responsible for that much money could he!? That was ludicrous. "I want you to use this money to set yourself up and to carry you through school until you get a job. Invest it, spend it, oh squander it if you will Jon, just remember that it's all you will get from me in cash forever more. Okay?"

"No!"

"No? What do you mean no, Jon."

"I mean no! I can't look after this much, I'm too young I don't know what to do with it. This is- this is why I have you, so you can look after my money. Why can't you just behave like a normal parent."  
With that he jumped up off his chair and with a wonky grin declared "Because I'm not a normal parent Jon! I'm setting you up to be better than the others, better than the petulant idiots who need their Mommy's and Daddy's to look after their money."

"But I'm not ready" Jon's lip was wavering slightly. He didn't want to be made to grow up yet. Sensing his son's childlike uncertainty George grabbed him suddenly and pulled him in tightly for a hug, he patted him reassuringly on the back and held him as he continued in his soothing voice.

"You're still my son and I your father. This does not change any of that, but these are skills that you must learn and have learnt a great deal of already. The lessons I taught you carry over: invest wisely in quality and longevity, think and research before a choice so you know the best option for you, but most of all follow your heart and be true to yourself because once you know who you truly are, you shall be a true gentleman." He pulled Jon and held him at arm length giving him a comforting squeeze. "Now this business is between you and your account manager, remember what I said and what I've taught you. Goodluck, I'll be waiting just outside okay." He gave Jon a wink and an affectionate ruffle of his hair. Isber directed as to where he could wait outside and he promptly departed leaving Jon alone with a renewed conviction in himself, and yet he still couldn't quite escape the lingering tinge of uncertainty and worry that tickled his darker sensibilities.

"How do I pay for a vault? What is the average cost of one?" Jon started. As good a place to begin as any he decided.

"Should you first look into converting your muggle currency into magical equivalents?" Isber prompted.

"Oh, yes of course. I'm sorry."

"You need not apologize, boy, I'm here to work with you for the best of us both, okay?" With that Isber spun the briefcase around to face him in a neat circle, and he quickly went about explaining to Jon the exchange rate system and how many knuts were in a sickle and how many sickles were in a galleon and so on. He took out a long blue feathered quill from his desk and let it drop in the air but instead of falling it hung as if suspended by an ethereal hand. What a bizarre day, here Jon was sitting in a magic bank talking to a goblin who was to be managing his million pound bank balance, and yet still the little things like a magical quill and parchment delighted and surprised him so much.

"You like that?" Isber spotted with a thin smile "It's a basic arithmancy quill, handy for a job like this-saves me hours of menial addition and subtraction. It can't do much advanced business but useful nonetheless" and then with a conspiratorial glance "you'll learn how to make them at Hogwarts so I'm told, in Arithmancy classes, year three or four. You may as well buy one now though, with your fledgling fortune if you really wanted."

"I may do that" Jon replied, with a smile at the goblin's uncharacteristically friendly demeanor. He was glad that Isber has been assigned to him, the other goblins had looked so unpleasant and grumpy. Not that Isber didn't look grumpy, but he had seemed to understand him and he had at least a modest sense of humor. The quill scribbled upon the piece of parchment moving back and forth as Isber removed the fat stacks of notes from the case and placed them in a neat pile on his desk.

Once it was all removed the goblin plucked the quill and parchment from the air and scanned the paper quickly, proclaiming "One million pounds as your father said, equivalent to two hundred thousand galleons. Yes that is a particularly large amount of coins to handle in person, not that I haven't seen wizards try to do so before." He paused in thought for a second. Then selecting a different quill he drew up an official looking contract onto a square piece of parchment he selected with a flourish from the selection in one of the draws of his desk. How many different shapes and sizes of writing equipment did he keep in there? Taking out a small black stamp, an authentication stamp he explained to Jon, he made the document official. It was then rolled up tightly, tied with a small section of black ribbon and placed through a small hatch in the wall to the side of the desk.

"Internal communication system" he explained "I've ordered a cart to be readied containing the sum of two hundred thousand galleons, ready to take down to your vault."

"But I don't have a vault yet."

"Something we shall quickly change while they are preparing the cart. I shall take these" Isber added as he snapped the now empty case shut and slid it across to Jon who promptly placed it on the floor by his feet, he then scooped up the arrayed stacks of 'muggle' money placing them too into the hatch in the wall. "And now we sort you out a vault. So yes you were right in that there is a fee in opening a vault and an upkeep cost in the form of an annual charge which covers all use of our facilities and services and any additional… _upgrades_ shall we say, that you wish to add on."

He gestured to the large folder of sheets he had previously levitated onto his desk, the folder that they had subsequently forgotten about. "This is a ledger of all the vaults currently in Gringotts, and this" he said, removing a fraction of the parchment from the back of the stack "is our selection of vacant vaults. Some old, most new and even the chance for one to be made specifically to your specification and requirements."

While bespoke was tempting and certainly necessary for suits and clothes, Jon figured a bespoke vault was probably excessive and unnecessary given the size of his still-modest fortune. This was confirmed when he took a closer look at the prices, for even a beginner level bespoke vault it would cost almost half his total balance, perhaps something to think about in ten years he decided. He evaluated the standard family and solo vaults that the average customer went for, some of them seemed sensible (averaging about a twelve thousand galleon upfront fee, with a thousand galleon annual charge) they would have the space to keep a reasonable amount of coins, not much growing room however, surely there was a more astute long term option there if he kept looking. The larger new vaults definitely came with better security and far more exclusivity, but there was a sharp increase in price when it came to them, probably not a viable option. He would definitely need to pay more attention to the security aspect come to think of it. If he was putting almost his entire net worth into a vault, the security could not be something he compromised on. Could he use an old vault? Seemed a little risky using somebody else's cast off vault and yet with risk there comes reward. If Jon could find the ideal vault he could save himself a fair sum of money AND give himself enough space to grow into AND maintain a sufficient level of security.

Jon mentioned this to Isber who smiled knowingly at him "Trying to find the hidden holy grail of vaults hey? Very wise, boy, indeed very wise. Patience is a virtue, not many wizards have the presence of mine at the age of eleven to avoid simply going for the _starter_ vault" he spat the last bit out with a certain amount of disdain. "Of course, once they have their vault they very rarely have time to change, so worth the work now. Especially, if it gets passed down the generations. Anyway, you're looking for something in the price range of ten to fifteen thousand, does that seem sensible?" Jon nodded, that was exactly what he was looking for. "Well why don't you take a look at these."

Isber carefully selected about fifteen sheets from the stack he had previously removed, and replacing the rest into the folder, he handed them to Jon. "These are all within the price range. Old vaults so you're probably getting a better price for them, although much like antiques some may have gained value since they were first built. It's up to your discretion to which may suit best. There is a floor plan for each along with its location, details of provenance and notable features." Jon nodded and began to sift through the pile. They all seemed to be depressingly unremarkable, eleven of them less than a hundred years old (muggle-borns who died without a magical heir) and just carbon copies of the ones he was browsing only moments before, the _starter_ vaults as Isber had so disdainfully put it. The other four were simply less than exciting, they were certainly old, something which must have added value and they even had a few interesting features the others didn't have that Jon liked the sound of (what even was a Persian Spirit Wall) they were all however even smaller than the basic vaults giving him no space to grow at all. Jon dropped the papers with a frustrated expiration of breath, onto the desk in front of him. Useless, he would just have to go for the _medium solo_ as it was so industrially called.

"Nothing there appropriate?"

Jon shook his head, getting the right vault would have at least given him the confidence that he had some chance of managing his money successfully. "Can I see the basic new vaults again please Isber?" Perhaps, if he spent the minimal possible money until he was older he would be able to invest better then.

"Well it may not have to come to that yet, boy. If you're willing to stretch to twenty thousand I think I may have found just the thing." Isber added with an almost gleeful grin, handing Jon a single piece of aged yellow parchment.

 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you had a fun read and if you enjoyed it please favourite so you get updated when the following chapters are uploaded. Reviews are accepted and encouraged both constructive criticism, shameless praise and your predictions of where you think (and hope) the story is going next. Thanks for reading. We shall be connecting with a few more recognisable Next-Gen characters in the coming chapters never fear._

 _Bless all you beautiful people._


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